Just Visiting
by Vampiric Hyde
Summary: Billy Miles! A short story in first person POV(Billy's) about hybridization...


Just Visiting

Once upon a time, a boy from Bellefluer, Oregon was abducted by aliens. This boy grew up to be a man. This man was changed into an alien hybrid. This boy who became a man was named Billy Miles.

My name is Billy Miles.

Eight years ago, I was living the life of any normal, or semi-normal, high school kid. The night of my graduation, however, I was abducted by aliens. Several of my friends were abducted along with me.

We found ourselves faced with an offer; allow ourselves to become part of a new alien project. Not very appealing, right? The alternatives were worse, though I won't speak of them now. Terrible.

The aliens left us, then returned to expose us to their true offer. They turned us into a new breed of what they occasionally referred to as 'the superhumans.' Honestly, though, what we became were human/alien hybrids.

A vertebra was inserted into each of our spinal cords. In my case, two were put it. These vertebras were made of some sort of strange metal, and filled with a fluid. Supposedly, each one had been hand-tailored to fit the individual who was to receive it. That was a big comfort, right.

I can feel the vertebra in my neck right now. When I touch my fingers to it, I feel a sense of mixed happiness and anger. I was basically forced to accept the vertebra, and I've never liked to be forced into anything. Equal chance for all, a chance to prove yourself, and all that.

At the same time, however, I can feel the strange joy. To be completely honest, I was always interested in alien life forms. To be part of the plan of aliens It was sort of a dream come true. And there's something about being a hybrid that makes me feel I don't know. I can't explain it. Never mind.

Back to the purpose of the vertebras, and the reason they were put into our necks. The aliens had been trying to find a way to bring members of the human race closer to the aliens, to make us more equal. There's more to it then that, but they don't tell us everything. I suppose I can't blame them, but it angers me all the same.

The aliens are, as far as I can tell, immune to death. They can't be killed. Something in their bodies, some fluid, regenerates anything that happens to be lost. I suppose that doesn't make sense, but it's true. At least, as far as I've been told and can figure.

To further their work on making a 'superhuman' race, the aliens looked into what they were made up of. They studied the fluids, the frames of their bodies And they realized that they could use the fluids to give regenerative powers to human beings.

Their problem was finding a way to get it into the patient. This was solved with the development of the vertebra, which quickly became the center point of the operation. Alien fluid was reworked to fit a certain human's genetic make-up, and then inserted into the vertebra. This vertebra would then be inserted into the spinal cord of the human that the makeup had been taken from.

The fluid in the vertebra allows the body of the individual with the vertebra to literally rebuild itself, always in the same fashion that it was in when the makeup information was taken. Basically, this means that the hybrid will look the same for the rest of his or her life. Bad and good, I suppose Depending on who you ask.

For either good or bad, though, I now have one. I am now who I am, and I will be as I am until I am somehow destroyed, assuming that they find something that can destroy us. Sometimes I hope they will. Some times I wonder about things. About forever. About hell on Earth.

What is it to be a hybrid? To be one who cannot die, who lives forever. To do the work of the aliens. To be different. What is it? What for? To what ends?

I don't know, but I'm deviating from the point Assuming that there was a point. Now I'm not sure. Is there ever really a point? Everything we do is rushed and pointless, really. After all, we all end up in the same place. No matter what path of life a person takes, he or she winds up dead.

Unless you're a hybrid, I suppose. Until they find a way to destroy us, we're unable to die. We can't reach the end of the path Instead, we're stuck walking down it forever, and ever

Forever. What is forever? Again I wonder. What can it be, what does it mean? What is time, for that matter? The passage of time But there is no such thing. What everyone says is wrong. Time is nothing. Time is simply a standard humans invented to live by.

But what does that have to do with anything? I've digressed completely from any sense at this point. I suppose I should find something that relates to my original point What was my original point? Oh The aliens. Hybridization.

The 'offer' of the aliens, the one that included the vertebra, also included an 'offer' to work for them. In becoming like them, we walked into their service, and were forced to work for them.

My feelings toward the work are the same as they are toward the vertebra angry and pleased at once. Again, I was forced into the work. On the other side, however I must admit that I do enjoy some of what is involved.

It doesn't make sense, I know. I used to be a police officer. I used to fight for the law, to work against all murders. Now I murder when I need to, and, at times, when it is unnecessary.

It's odd, but it doesn't bother me as much as some issues. Part of my enjoyment for my work is simply having the ability to doing, being something different, something more capable. That's as odd as anything, but I don't care It makes some sort of sense to me.

Who cares what you think, anyway? You aren't me, and you can't understand everything If you can, then you've got a wonderful talent. Go join Miss Chloe. But again, I'm off the track.

The jobs I do vary. Most of the time they involve hunting down and killing, and I don't use those words lightly. That's my job. Hunt and kill. Seek and destroy. It's almost funny, like something that'd be heard in a movie. I suppose that, at times, my life is life a movie.

Nearly all of the people are shocked to find that they're about to be murdered, if he or she even has time to recognize the fact that there is indeed going to be murder quickly. Many of them don't. Those people make it even easier than the others I can approach from behind and kill, just as simple as that.

I use an alien weapon to kill. It's much more efficient than anything on the Earth Almost like a super-powered switchblade. I use it to severe the heads off of the bodies of the victims. A quick death and, so I've been told, a painless one But how can anyone know that for sure if the people who've gone through it died without saying anything?

Yes, I kill people. Yes, I do it coldly, quickly, with calculation. Do I ever enjoy it? I'm not sure. Maybe part of me does Hell, I think that part of me does. To understand why, you'd have to understand my mind, and I don't want to begin explaining that. Even if you think that you would understand, I don't feel like explaining it.

I kill people. I go from hating aliens to working for them. I go from working with the police department to murdering. I go from hating what I am to loving what I am.

Confused is what I am right now, though. I'm an alien hybrid and I kill. Wonderful. I used to be different, but even so What lies ahead?

Too many questions, I know. I'll stop. At least, I'll try to stop. I really can't guarantee anything. If I don't understand myself, how can I guarantee anything? Damn. That was a question

I suppose I'm almost done. If I speak for any longer, I'll probably go mad, or cause you to go mad. This isn't making any sense. I'm sorry, but at the moment my mind isn't making an awful lot of sense, you see.

Am I crazy? I don't think so Well, maybe by some definitions, but not by the definition of the hybrids. Many of us think along the lines of what I've said. If insanity is a collective definition, I'm not insane. Not in the world of hybrids, at least. Then again, I'm no psychiatrist either, so I can't be sure.

Whether I'm crazy or not doesn't matter to the aliens. They apparently saw me as fit to work for them, and still do. We didn't all make it One of us was killed instead of being hybridized. Sometimes I wonder if he was the lucky one. Sometimes I really do.

The rest of us are what we are. The aliens have hurt us; they've hurt what we loved. They don't want to leave a trail, and they enforce that into our minds.

Never leave a trail. Never let them know you were there. In fact, you never were there. They don't know you. They don't know what you are. You don't exist.

These are the rules that the aliens live by. These are the rules that I must live by under most circumstances. At times it is necessary to be seen, but those are exceptional cases, usually designed as complicated cover-ups.

Most of what I do must be executed quickly and then covered up. I enter, I kill, and I usually am told to destroy all evidence. Fire is often a good method for the last. It consumes everything in its path, engulfing the evidence and turning it into so much charred waste, into pieces of nothing.

Seek, kill, destroy, burn. My life, my pride, my bane. That is how I live, that is how I will live. As a hybrid, a destroyer, a guardian. I don't leave a trail, I don't let them know what I am. In fact, I was never here.

I'm just visiting.


End file.
